Stalag Geist
by robo-pie
Summary: Sergeant Kinchloe, one snowy German winter, is given a warning by something unnatural.  The warning comes to life as a new threat to not only the Underground, but to the lives of the men at Stalag 13 and their allies as well.  Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Teeth clattering, Sgt. Kinchloe continued his ever patient position as radio operator. Communications to and from Stalag 13 varied greatly from mission to mission, including the breaks in between. Today, however, it was mostly silent, like it had been for a long while. Stuck in the ever chilling tunnels, Kinch waited for a reply from the underground; it had been nearly an hour since he sent the first original message. He repeated the message many times since then.

Quickly, Kinch checked the time on his watch, briefly exposing his wrist to the cold. In another 15 minutes, he, along with the other prisoners, would have to show up outside for roll call. For the sergeant, it was merely a switch from a cool tunnel to an even colder outdoor headcount.

He breathed on his numb hands for warmth. A hot cup of joe sounded just like Heaven at the moment; at least it would heat up his insides, if not his stiff digits. Le Beau was most likely up in the barracks brewing a pot of coffee as he worked this very moment. Hopefully the short Frenchman would be thoughtful and bring down some for him.

A sharp drop in temperature rudely awakened Kinch from his simple fantasy. Before, Kinch could see a faint mist created from his breath, but now it formed it's own puffy, miniature cloud. He watched the thick formation slowly dissipate.

"This is ridiculous," Kinch grumbled under his breath. He was stuck underground, freezing, and was waiting for a non-existent radio reply. Thinking to try to call out one more time before giving up, he then began to transmit his message again.

Then the radio noise turned to static, the machine itself flickering on and off. The light bulb above his work area became erratic. At first, the radio man blamed the cold weather; still, there were few wires down here, as most of the light came from freestanding lamps. Something more pinpointed had to be disrupting the bulb, let alone the radio.

Someone's messing with the wiring, Kinch immediately deduced. Was there a spy hiding in the shadows, sabotaging the operation? But who? And how?

Kinch didn't waste time dwelling on such questions. As soon as he had thought the statement, he had already taken off his headphones and retrieved a revolver from his hidden hip holster. Whoever was messing around in the tunnel, he or she did not notice Kinch take action; the equipment had continued to act haywire without getting better or worse. He strained his ears to pick up any slight movement or sound, like the cackle of static, or even a strained voice laboring on some wiring.

The sergeant was so focused on his current dilemma, that he now completely ignored the fact that his army uniform did little to shield him from the still, frosty atmosphere. All that Kinch was aware of was the danger to not just the operation, but to the men and him, and possibly even to their contacts. He dearly wanted some back up, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself or scare away the intruder.

Lights all over the various tunnels and main chamber slowly joined in on the chaotic flickering one by one, each second adding more strain to Kinch's vision. Even the lamps began to play along. Kinch could have sworn that they were silently humming too; some even slightly swinging. He then shrugged it off. It was then he felt like the person, whoever it was, was now toying with him.

Hurried and heavy footsteps sounded off echoes behind Kinch, who spun on his heel and aimed. Nothing, but everything continued to dance their show.

Light bulbs and sounds were in an absolute frenzy now, creating a disturbing fun house, but without the fun. Slightly dazed from the light show, Kinch heard the footsteps again. And again. And again, which sent the already disoriented man coming off balance. What was left? Right? Forward and back? The frosted air, the lights, the footsteps, the voice-wait, a voice?

Finally Kinch stopped swerving around on his spot, aiming his weapon at where he heard the voice.

"Stop it!" the man yelled. Whoever-or whatever-it was, the command didn't deter them. The bulbs were pulsating ever faster now, as if it were Kinch's own spooked heartbeat. It was all feeding off his confusion. Then the heavy footsteps seemed to be scuffling around him in a circle, each turn gaining closer to Kinch. With still nothing there! Just as the frantic sergeant spotted a shadow in his peripheral vision, which to him resembled a German helmet and rifle, he heard the voice again. It was frighteningly clear, crisp like the air.

"Passen Sie das Kind von Irland auf,"

"STOP IT!" Kinch boomed, turning around to face the trespasser. Instead, he tripped over an unnoticed wicket chair, almost invisible from the flashing lights. Kinch fell harshly on the ground and sent his revolver flying across the floor in the process.

"Kinch !"

Hastily, he got up on his hands and knees in response to his name, trying to absorb his drastically changed environment. Everything was lit dimly again; nothing was flickering or flashing. Even the radio was no longer giving off static. Kinch also realized that the tunnel was no longer a large freezer, and had gone to its normal cool settings. The air barely relieved the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his hairline.

"Kinch! What's going on?"

He finally got up onto his feet, reaching over and replacing his misplaced revolver. He looked over at the ladder and saw Carter halfway down on it. When he knew he had Kinch's attention, he climbed the rest of the way down and went to his side, placing a friendly but firm hand on his shoulder.

"You okay? We heard you shouting, and when I came down you were on the floor-"

"It's nothing," Kinch interjected rather quickly. "I...I'm just frustrated that none of our contacts have called in is all,"

Carter was empty-headed at times, but he knew Kinch. The man was liked for his calm disposition and patience. He would get stern or frustrated, but no one ever heard him raise his voice, let alone hear him yelling.

"Really?" Carter pressed, not convinced. "I've never heard you yell like that; you sure nothing's up?"

"I'm sure. I guess the cold and...small spaces were getting to me; just a little stir crazy,"

To Kinch's surprise, the explosive expert's face split into a friendly smile.

"That's good then! Roll call is in a few minutes, so you can stretch your legs then!"

Kinch just sighed and shook his head.

"Fantastic…"

The two then went up the ladder into the barracks, with Kinch silently thanking Carter for momentarily forgetting his supposed meltdown. Because of the stove, it was slightly warmer, but only slighter. It was better than the tunnel, at least.

"Hey Kinch!" Newkirk called from the table, drinking some coffee, "Colonel says there's going to be a new prisoner coming soon; Klink's going to announce it during roll call"

"Oui, it was heard on our bugs; Klink wants to surprise us," Le Beau added in. Beside him, Colonel Hogan put on a mock frown.

"Now you two spoiled the surprise for him!"

"No worries colonel," Kinch replied grinning, "I've had enough surprises today,"

Hogan then became serious, straightening his back. "News from the underground?"

Kinch shook his head. "Nothing; I think I sent out the same message out at least 20 times in the last hour or so,"

"Strange," Newkirk commented, "Usually they'd have a new mission for us by now,"

"Yeah; it's been a whole month, and I've been doing nothing but making snowmen!" Carter complained as he stuck his hands into his pockets. "Do you know how much I miss blowing up bridges and trains? You know, how they go 'BOOM!' and 'KER-BOOM!' and-"

"We get it Carter," Le Beau chided. The sergeant gave him a bashful grin. It soon faded away when he, along with the other men, noticed Hogan slowly pacing, his arms crossed firmly on his chest.

Kinch knew what was on the colonel's mind. It was strange that there had been a month of silence. When the group finished up their last mission, the trees were nearly done losing the last of their dried, colored leaves; now they were covered in a thick curtain of snow. His leader had every reason to be concerned, and if Hogan was concerned, everyone was.

"Everybody out for roll call! Raus!"

At Schultz's call, the prisoners bustled out in to the freezing night. Once in their places, the men impatiently stomped their feet to keep warm, and Schultz hurried up with his head count.

"Schultz! Report!"

Kinch found himself amused at the large German's eagerness to finish roll call. If only he knew about Klink's "surprise".

"All present and accounted for Herr Kommadant!" Schultz reported cheerfully, a spring in his salute.

"Gut! Now, I have an announcement to make,"

Kinch watched carefully as Schultz's bright attitude slowly stepped along with his oberst, who was walking nearer to the group of prisoners. His focus then fell on Klink as he began to address his audience.

"Prisoners of Stalag 13!" he began with a smug smile, gripping onto his riding crop. "I have an announcement to make!"

"Oh! Is it about a new prisoner sir?" Carter piped up in a pretend excited tone.

"Yeah, a new face 'round here would sure brighten things up in this ruddy camp," Newkirk added.

"Silence, or-wait, how did you know about the new prisoner?"

"It's hopeful wishing sir," Hogan explained, "They can't help longing for new friends,"

"Funny," Klink grumbled, "However, there is going to be a new prisoner, coming tomorr-"

The kommadant was interrupted again as the prisoners cheered. Kinch grinned, but continued to stomp his feet for warmth instead. The antics the rest pulled always amused him, yes, but he'd rather be inside, next to the stove.

"Silence!" Klink shouted, truly aggravated this time, "One more disruption and I will cut the coal rations in half!"

This time, everyone bit their tongue. Kinch was glad, as he was sick of being frozen; he wasn't in the mood for anything colder than it was.

"Now, as I was saying, there is going to be a new prisoner, coming tomorrow. He is a Gestapo prisoner, but Major Hochstetter has seen this efficient, escape-proof camp as a perfect place to place his charge. As his own guards will be watching over him, I expect NOTHING but your most professional military bearing and spotless barracks. If even one measly prisoner breaks the tiniest rule, he will be punished severely and without question!"

Kinch did not miss the surprised look on not just Colonel Hogan's face, but on the other men as well. It was apparent that they did not know the Gestapo was involved. In fact, it was surprising that they were not ahead of the bumbling Klink, as was usual.

The drawn out "dismissed" shook Kinch out of his thoughts, and followed the others back inside. Although the barracks were not cozy warm, it was a definite plus to being out in the harsh German winter. They made it inside before the wind picked up.

"How did we not know that the new prisoner was being held by the Gestapo?" Hogan hissed under his breath, mostly to himself.

"The kettle did short-circuit sir," Carter said.

"You would know Carter; you were the one who used it to brew it for coffee!" Le Beau bereted him. His American friend grinned apologetically.

"In this weather, I'm desperate for anything warm,"

"That's not important now," Hogan stated, leaning against a bunk bed. "What's important is that we keep quiet around the new prisoner, especially since he's got the Gestapo keeping an eye out on him. When he gets here, we need to find out why he's under Hochstetter's watch in the first place, and see if we can trust him,"

Kinch's eyes brightened. For the first time in a month, there was a new mission; it wasn't much, but at least they were being useful. Too bad they couldn't contact the underground about this.

"Finally," Newkirk said while rubbing his hands, "I've been itchin' to get on with something since our last mission,"

Their conversation was cut short when Schultz came in. He quickly shut the door as a hard wind blew in, and Kinch could have sworn there were some snowflakes blowing along.

"Colonal Hogan, Colonel Klink orders all men confined to the barracks, and have lights out by 8:30 tonight," Schultz told him, rubbing his gloved hands together. Men around the barracks groaned and griped.

"Ridiculous! I'm going to have to make a complaint on this to Klink!"

"Please don't Colonel Hogan," Schultz practically begged, "It's freezing, and I'd rather go back to my own barracks to warm up,"

But Hogan was already out the door. Schultz groaned as he wrung his hands, and reached for the doorknob to go after the American. Before he so much as touched it, Hogan slid right back in. He was stiff and had his arms wrapped around himself.

"It is freezing," Hogan managed to get out. Kinch looked over at his fellow comrades, and noticed that they too shared the same dread. For one, there had been an absolute radio silence for a solid month. Now there was a huge snow storm brewing, and there was a new, intriguing prisoner coming in tomorrow. They had no information on him, and not even Colonel Hogan was able to get anywhere.

This wasn't good.

Kinch watched Sergeant Schultz reluctantly rush outside into the snow. Even though the door was firmly closed behind him, drafts slipped into the barracks and caused the air to drop into a teeth-clattering temperature. A few prisoners began to tighten the windows shut, despite the fact that they couldn't be shut any further, and a small huddle formed around the lone stove, where Le Beau was feeding the fire.

Although he joined the shivering prisoners and shared a slice of warmth, the sudden cold rudely reminded Kinch of his incident earlier, down in the tunnel. The sergeant tried to tell himself that the frosty atmosphere was messing with his head. The lack of activity and the even more disturbing radio silence was getting him restless. That was all.

Kinch looked down at his watch, remembering the men's new lights-out policy. A cool breeze swept over his exposed wrist as he checked the time.

"Colonel, it's a quarter to eight. You think the kommadant will let us have a slumber party near the stove?"

A few chuckles managed to come out, but were soon replaced by shivering again. His leader looked over at the man with a half grin; they all knew the answer.

"I'm afraid we'll have to bundle up the best we can," Hogan muttered, sticking his hands into his pockets.

"I'll go to bed if Le Beau promises to make a steaming pot of porridge to warm me belly with," Newkirk commented rather stiffly. His French counterpart, who was standing next to him, lightly elbowed him.

And that was how they all spent the next 15 minutes until it was time for lights-out. Kinch wrapped his thin blanket around him as tightly as he could, already feeling the misery this sleepless night would bring. No one else was sleeping of course, and he could even hear near silent murmurs though out the barracks.

Kinch then uncomfortably turned onto his other side. All he could do was toss and turn, and think; he'd done enough thinking today, and his mind was still somewhat messed up from everything that had happened, so he decided to keep his body busy.

And that was so for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed and read! I'm surprised that all of them have been quite positive, as I spotted a few mistakes after I posted the first chapter (though one person did point out my bad German, lol Btw, please tell me if I'm using any foreign language wrong; I want this to be as realistic as possible, despite the whole supernatural thing). Just saying, as I don't mind an honest critique.**

**I hope you all enjoy chapter 2!**

Kinch certainly didn't sleep well that night; guessing from the others' puffy eyes, neither had they. Despite the minor fatigue, the air was filled with anticipation. The new Gestapo prisoner was arriving today with a new mission. Lack of communications and intelligence did little to deter Hogan and his men from readying for this opportunity. Perhaps it was stupid to do so in such an unprepared state, but Kinch didn't mind that. There was nothing else they could do, really.

Ten minutes before roll call found Kinch drinking some of the remaining (and dwindling) coffee rations at the table with the group. The radio man swirled the last dreg of the now cooled drink. He tried not to remember how hearty it used to be, and how warming it felt when it was swallowed down his throat and into his empty stomach. The bland and possibly stale blend tasted like the worst cup of coffee he ever drank, though it did feel like the hottest. As Kinch glanced over at his friends, he saw their own reactions to what could be their last cup of steaming hot goodness for a long time. Le Beau was open in stating how horrid it tasted; Newkirk swallowed it, but grumbled about his broken hope of a nice bowl of hot porridge; and Carter? Kinch could have sworn the young man was a kid again. The explosive expert tilted his head back along with the cup to get every last drop of the coffee, his tongue greedily searching for anything he missed.

Hogan, as usual, treated it like any other cup of coffee. He made a joke about its taste, but that was all. He had more important things in mind.

"So, everyone knows what to do?" the leader spoke up. Kinch nodded, as the plan was discussed over the meager breakfast.

"Yeah colonel. We meet the prisoner – if we can – and see what he's in for," he answered. Carter then piped in, wiping a dribble of coffee dreg from his lips.

"And then we see if we can trust him, and then start snooping around, right?" he finished with a grin. Hogan didn't smile back.

"This isn't a game everyone. I hate to say it, but this may be our last chance at helping the Underground, whatever they're up to," Hogan sat down his mug and scratched his chin. "Unless we get any sort of contact from the outside, our operations may have to cease if we can't do this mission right,"

Kinch frowned, pushing away his own mug. "What do you mean sir?"

"I mean that I think this prisoner and his Gestapo escorts have something to do with this over-drawn radio silence,"

Newkirk and Le Beau gave one another a look before the Londoner replied.

"So this could possibly be the solution to contacting the Underground?"

"Or our one failure to the operations with them,"

The table grew silent. Kinch didn't like it. Could this possibly be the last for the remainder of the war? He almost suggested sending someone to meet a regular contact in town, just to check up on things, but immediately kept his mouth shut. If there was a problem, they would send someone to Hogan, not the other way around. Besides, it was too risky; it was possible that one of their allies was exposed, and going out in the open crawling with Nazi spies would only make things worse.

"I can't imagine living like an ordinary prisoner," Le Beau confided after a small moment. "Why bother making any strudel to bribe Schultz with if there's no reason to bribe him?"

"And why bother kissing up to that blubbering kommadant?" Newkirk added. "Bleedin' idiot wouldn't have kept this job without us!"

"Which is why we need to focus on our new mission, starting _now_," Hogan ordered firmly. Before anyone could agree or comment, a shivering Schultz had popped in and rounded every one out of the barracks. Whatever little warmth Kinch had managed to hold on to from his coffee immediately disappeared when the winter wind breezed in, carrying some flurries in on the way.

Once outside, Kinch thanked the Lord that the blizzard only lasted during the night. There were light snowflakes drifting downwards in lazy spirals, but that was hardly noticeable. What bothered him was the lack of sun; thick grey clouds, threatening the poor men with another nighttime storm, blocked the comforting rays that could have warmed their backs. Kinch ignored the cold as best as he could.

"_Eins, zwei, drei…_" Schultz started counting. Kinch could hear his teeth clatter between and within every syllable. He then noticed his own shivering and teeth clattering, and began rubbing his arms and stomping his feet. He could have sworn it was ten times colder out here than it was down in the tunnels.

Kinch paused, watching his breath form into a cloud and disintegrate seconds later. He almost forgot about the tunnels. Somehow he managed to make himself suppress the memory about what happened down there yesterday evening, only to have it replay intensely in his head. The flickering and dancing lights, the renegade radio, and the voice suddenly reverberated in his mind's eye, and he recalled the voice's message:

_Passen Sie das Kind von Irland auf._

Beware the child of Ireland.

Kinch spoke German rather well, but the confusion and stress from the previous day disrupted him from thinking about it. Arms rubbed themselves again as he tried keeping warm.

What Irish child? There were certainly no children here in the stalag, that was sure; younger men, perhaps, but the youngest was a 19 year old private, on the other side of the camp. As for Irish, Kinch knew of no one in the area who was of that ethnicity. There were some Americans here who might be part Irish, or even Scottish or Welsh, but there were no full blooded Irishmen to be seen.

_Well, _Kinch mused to himself, _perhaps I was just stir crazy yesterday. I should focus on the mission anyway._

Focusing on the mission became much easier after Klink called for everyone's attention.

"Prisoners! We have with us today some gentlemen from the Gestapo, and their own…_guest. _ Let's show them the efficiency and discipline that is Stalag 13, shall we?" he finished off with a jovial, though clattering, smile. Kinch and the other men looked around to find the prisoner, but all they saw were the two Gestapo officers, a few guards, and-

Kinch squinted his eyes. Was _that _the new prisoner?

Most newcomers were "young pups", as Newkirk dubbed them, but this man resembled more of an old bull dog. Although not fat, he was a stout, gruff man in his middle years and looked to be a few inches taller than Le Beau. Slightly balding and graying black hair ruffled beneath his cap. His face was lined and a plump nose drooped down his face. Kinch would have known his military branch and rank, but he was a bit of a ways from his place in the flight.

The new old prisoner was shoved into Hogan's group, which was unnecessary as Klink dismissed every one seconds later. He turned to the officers, leading them to the office building. Kinch swiftly gathered with his colleagues around Hogan, awaiting orders.

"Newkirk and Le Beau, go follow the new guy; keep an eye on him. Carter, I need you to talk him up a little. Just be friendly, casual. You know what to do,"

Carter nodded, and the three went next to the barracks after the new prisoner.

"Kinch, I'm going to give our beloved kommadant a surprise visit," Hogan said with a well-known playful grin, "and I need you to go into the tunnels again. I'm giving the Underground one last chance to answer to Papa Bear,"

The loyal yet wary sergeant accepted. He was harshly reminded of what had happened down there, but working under Hogan for as long as he had leaded him to obey his leader. No matter how crazy a mission or order seemed, it always turned out successful in the end.

The two then parted ways. Kinch had given Hogan a grin before turning away, but it soon formed into a troubled frown. He truly did not feel up to going back down to the tunnels. Tomorrow, maybe, and most surely he would have done so without hesitation the day after. But today?

Kinch descended the ladder into the airy cell. He fought back the chill and his own dismay of coming down and proceeded to one last transmission to the Underground.

The same chair, desk, and radio sat there taunting him. They chuckled in the dull light and frosty atmosphere at Kinch's childish dislike of the tunnels, of his silly imagination. The lights and lamps surrounded him in glee, almost as if they were eager to tease him again.

In defiance, Sergeant Kinchloe grabbed his earphones and immediately got to work. He had a job to do and nothing was going to stop him. There was a whole organization hanging on the line; ridiculous hallucinations and fears had no place here. Even the lack of responses failed to upset Kinch. At least, not at first.

"Papa Bear calling Goldilocks…Mama Bear…over," he spoke clearly into the mic. Nothing.

"Papa Bear calling Goldilocks, Mama Bear, Little Bear, over,"

Nothing again.

After ten minutes, Kinch sighed. He hoped the rest were having better luck with their part of the mission. At least they were being useful; all he could do was anticipate unresponsive radio waves.

Knowing the slim chance of a response, Kinch took off the headphones and leaned back in the old chair. He breathed in and out slowly. Cold air rushed through his nose and into his lungs, a refreshing feeling, though he was already chilled to the bone. Eventually he closed his tired eyes. His lack of sleep caught up to him as the heavy lids glued together and the breathing slowed. The cold air around him failed to keep him awake as it had done last night.

Lazily, Kinch thought of what the prisoner was like. He might be tired, considering his supposed age; perhaps he wished of his old wife at home. But everyone was like that here, missing for their wives, girlfriends, mothers, sisters…

Soon even the fleeting thoughts faded away, and Kinch was nothing but a mixture of feelings. He felt exhausted, curious, thoughtful, and slightly disturbed.

Was what had happened _real_? It did at the time.

But it was just stress getting to me.

And it has been a cold season. The winter has been getting everyone antsy.

Yeah, sleep is nice.

_Has he told you about the Child?_

The voice was airy, unearthly even. It wasn't the same one from before, but somehow one felt connected to the other.

Kinch slumbered on, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

You know what? I think I was just dreaming then, like I am now.

_His presence threatens your allies, Child of the West. Protect your brethren from the Child of Éire!_

Man, I need to eat something. These dreams are getting to my head.

_Your dreams speak the truth. Heed the warning!_

What? The dream? Kinch groggily thought. He tried to ignore these phantom, disembodied words. They were just his imagination, right? But for some reason, his heart was pounding, and his breathing was growing ragged.

_Protect your brothers! Cosain do dheartháireacha! _

From who? What's going on-?

_**Tá tú ag rabhadh leanbh!**_

"Kinch!"

The said man was jolted back into the conscious world by the sound of his name, and because of a firm shake to his shoulder. He literally jumped out of his seat and onto his feet, accidentally thwacking the person behind him with his hand.

"Ow! Dang it Kinch, I didn't do it to be mean!"

He turned and saw it was Carter again. He was rubbing a gloved hand over his reddening nose, his hat slightly askew on his head. Kinch composed himself by straightening his own attire.

"Sorry about that; thought you were someone else," he said softly, trying to be his usual calm and cool-headed self. Carter grunted, fixing his cap.

"Well, just don't tell the colonel you were sleeping, he's mad – really mad,"

Kinch threw the dream from his mind at Carter's comment. "Really? Why?"

"Well, we're just not _getting _anything, you know? Colonel Hogan couldn't even get into Klink's office, the new guy's a total jerk –"

By then Carter was wringing his hands. He looked extremely nervous; the annoyance from Kinch's hit was gone. The older man placed his hands on Carter's shoulder's and gave them a slight shake.

"C'mon, how about we go up and I get filled in by the rest? I'm sure Newkirk and Le Beau have a lot to tell me too,"

Carter grinned a little. "Alright. And Le Beau is making some sausages, so we might as well try to get first pick!"

Kinch chuckled as he followed Carter back to the stove up the ladder. When the bunk bed opening was closed, he saw the new prisoner facing the opposite wall, smoking a cigarette. With him just there, wasn't it risky to trust him with their Underground workings now?

"Don't worry!" Carter whispered to the sergeant, knowing his concern. "He's partially deaf from a recent blast; at least, that's what we think it is,"

Kinch nodded in understanding. He then made his way to the table by the stove as Le Beau finished up the last round of sausages. They were small and skinny, but the smell made Kinch's mouth water. It wasn't peppery, or any other sort of spice, but the fat itself would taste great: a big boost from the coffee earlier that morning.

Minutes later, the French cook started handing out plates to first picks, with Kinch grateful he had one himself. He bit into it and reveled in the hot grease that slightly burned the tip of his mouth and tongue. He didn't care; it was hot food going into his stomach and that's all he wanted. Next to him, Newkrik stabbed two of the little sausages at once with his fork, and ate them in one bite.

"Ahhh…" the Brit sighed with a grin after swallowing them. He lightly patted his belly. "That warms me up right quick,"

"It'sh good, huh?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Carter," Le Beau said from the stove, not bothering to turn around as he passed out plates. The young sergeant swallowed quickly and picked at his sausages much more carefully.

"So," Kinch brought up after that was done with, "what did you guys find out?"

Le Beau sneered. "Not much. Newkirk and I watched that man for almost an hour while Carter socialized,"

"Carter said something about him being a jerk," Kinch added with a grin. He bit into his last sausage as Newkirk replied.

"That's putting it lightly. The man is as nice as a spoiled 5 year old twit with a runny nose. Nagging about everything and everyone, acting all high and mighty – can't stand him," he finished with an irritated grumble.

"And Hogan? He's mad?"

"Pretty steamed, yeah," Newkirk answered. "He's pacing and thinking in his office. Said he was kicked out by the Gestapo the moment he got to the door. They're tough this time,"

"_Pauvre homme. _His pride is a bit hurt as well; landed on his rear, just at the steps," Le Beau said.

And at that, Colonel Hogan himself stepped from his office, smiling his smile and looking as if nothing of the previous had happened. Kinch didn't buy it; it was obviously forced. Still, he knew he was doing it to move forward with their plan instead of sulking in a rut.

Hogan walked over to the new prisoner, exchanged a few words, and brought him over to the table.

The man, Kinch now noticed, wore a RAF uniform like that of Newkirk's. It was the same dark blue with the same coporal insignia. Kinch wondered how such an older man stayed at such a low rank. Hogan, however, introduced him cheerfully to his trusted men.

"Men, meet our new fellow POW: Corporal Jacob Murray. He's from Ireland, so don't mind the accent if it gets a bit thick," he finished with a playful grin. Murray didn't seem to notice the joke, or even know that Hogan had spoken. He looked bored and disgruntled, as if he would rather be somewhere else.

The others forced a smile while Kinch froze, absent-mindedly stabbing his fork into the empty plate with a bland stare.

_Beware the Child of Éire._

Kinch ignored the phrase that popped into his head. He noticed his plate was devoid of food stuff, so he stopped poking it like an idiot and plastered a smile like the rest.

"Hey there, corporal. I'm Sergeant Kinchloe. Call me Kinch,"

Two spirits, different in substance but the same in their goal, watched as the dark skinned Child of the West greeted the man. The one of the mortal soul gazed forward, only slightly comprehending what was happening.

"_Mein Enkel…_ _Bitte schützen Sie mein Enkel…" _he begged the American, not knowing he wasn't heard. The unearthly being spiritually with him coaxed him away from the scene.

"_He will protect your grandson, do not fear_," he breathed, his promise sounding like it flowed in a slow wind. Gradually the barracks they hid in began to fade, as they floated back into the woods and into a light, consuming them. The mortal soul moaned, wanting to warn the dark man again of the threat to come, the threat that destroyed him, the threat that could reach the dark man, his friends and the spirit's grandson.

"_Mein Enkel!" _he begged, reaching weakly to the group of soldiers. He was gingerly pulled away.

"_Come with me for now, into my world of beautiful music, and laughter…come…"_

The mortal soul knew it was time to leave for now. The music was indeed the most wonderful he had ever heard, and he never stopped laughing with joy when he stayed there. But he needed to convince him of the dangers ahead!

"_Mein Enkel…_"he groaned out a final time. The other held him to the light.

"_Later, my Son of the Fatherland,_" the soothing voice cooed, "_Let the Child of the West rest, and learn to trust his heart before we meet again,_"

"_Now we rest ourselves, in the joy that is the Otherworld,_"

The soul smiled with an empty stare. "_Ja, Jenseits…_"

The two spirits, different in substance but the same in their hopes, joined together in the paradise and giggled with glee.

_May the Sun shine on your back as you tread on, Good Child of the West!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm going to say this now: I really don't care for this chapter. I feel like I should have written it better, and a recent illness combined with going back to school didn't help. So please, read and review so I can make it better!**

A week had passed since the arrival of Corporal Murray.

And already, within that week, everyone despised the 45-year-old Irishman. He spat continuously, his wild ebony hair was greasy, and he itched in places that would make any decent minded person blush. Even the rotating Gestapo guards grimaced at his crude habits. Stone faced as those men could be, no one could truly ignore the squelching, hacking sound of Murray coughing up phlegm and tobacco tar.

Even without those sounds and actions, there were his ticks and isolated nature. In the evening, especially after supper, he sat there in deep thought as he popped various fingers, or shifted around in his seat. He often spread out his legs in the most inconvenient of places, such as between two tables in the mess hall; sometimes right in the middle of the floor in the already overcrowded barracks. Other than snippy comebacks to the other prisoners' complaints, Murray rarely spoke. He didn't get friendly with anyone and they were more than happy to comply.

Except Kinch.

He found himself constantly at Murray's side. That first day he introduced himself, Murray actually acknowledged his presence, nodding in his direction.

"Ya the first Negro I've met," he bluntly stated.

"And you're the first Irishman I've met,"

Murray actually grinned a little then. "Aye,"

Since then, Kinch took the unofficial duty of keeping an eye on the old corporal. The sergeant was not particularly enthralled by this, but Hogan urged him to take the challenge.

"You're the only one he seems to like," Hogan explained, later that night in his office, "and it's going to save us plenty of trouble if you can just talk to him,"

Kinch promised, and met up with Murray for breakfast after roll call. The night before provided another snowstorm, but it was somewhat smaller in scale. Regardless of size, a new foot deep coat of snow lay on the ground and it was still freezing. Kinch tugged at his jacket to wrap himself in his body heat; Murray showed little discomfort as he smoked his last cigarette. The off-white cloud of his breath and the grey of the tobacco fumes mixed together and jettisoned away as Murray puffed out the smoke. The Gestapo guard stood a few feet away; his eyes never left the prisoner.

Between them was a plate of rubbery bacon Kinch had brought out. He ate a few pieces of the meager breakfast and offered some to Murray.

"Mmm," was his mumbled reply. He inhaled and exhaled some more of the cigarette fumes as he looked at it with disgust. Kinch could only imagine the kind of fit Le Beau would have at the reaction. With the dwindling supply of fresh food, the picky Frenchman was short tempered when it came to culinary needs.

But Kinch mentioned nothing of the sort to Murray; he knew better. That morning he kept his thoughts to himself while Corporal Murray blabbered away about everything that was on his mind. The grizzled Irish brogue was laced with annoyance.

The day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after _that_, Kinch continued to keep Murray company. The sergeant learned about the camp's horrible food, how no one offered Murray a hand when he had to switch bunks, how he wished he could get his hands on a good quality cigar…

That was about the extent of the monologues, along with other trivial things. Kinch did what he could to get the conversation going elsewhere for the sake of the mission, but to his dismay, Murray loved the snow and cold. Everyday found him sitting on the bench or barrels against Barracks 2. Not far was the Gestapo guard, prohibiting Kinch from asking particular questions. He tried more than once to get him to go inside (where the guard did not enter), but that was Murray's least favorite place to be.

So Kinch suffered the cold, the stupid chatter, and the constant hacking and spitting that Murray brought. A whole week of this and it was still going strong.

_At least I'm getting used to this weather, _Kinch tried to convince himself. His poor toes protested. They were stiff and tingling. He found himself outside again, waiting for Murray to return from the restroom. Murray had crudely excused himself in the middle of a rant on how folks these days had no respect.

"'Bout to pee myself if I don't get movin'," he stated while getting up.

Kinch, for the next few moments, was alone with his thoughts. He thought about how he was getting nowhere in the mission, how he was failing.

He decided to stop thinking about that, but his only other worry was the voices he'd heard several days ago, when all this madness started.

So he decided to think again about how he was failing.

How could he possibly get Murray to get inside without raising suspicion? Or did he really need to talk to Murray after all? Perhaps some old fashioned research in Klink's office would do the trick. It would be logical to think that some sort of file on him was protected somewhere in the kommandantur.

That sounded like a plan; he'd talk to Hogan later.

The sound of crisp snow crunching under heavy boots came to Kinch's ears. Turning his head, he saw Murray and his escort returning. With the new idea in mind, Kinch accepted Murray's return with more confidence.

Murray took his seat next to Kinch and leaned back against the cold outer wall.

"You remind me of me nephew," he said after a while. Kinch tightened his jacket before answering.

"Really? What's his name?"

"Can't remember which one, I got so many,"

Kinch grinned a little. "Remember what he's like at least?"

"Oh, quiet, keeps to himself. He loves the stories I tell him. Good lad,"

"What stories do you tell him?" Kinch asked. Anything other than the usual bickering sounded wonderful.

"Silly ones, dramatic tales from the olden days; just things little boys enjoy. His favorites were of the young heroes proving their worth and the like,"

Murray then snorted and spat out a large chunk of something that Kinch didn't care to glance at. The guard made a disgruntled huff at the scene.

"Care to hear one? It's been awhile,"

"Why not?" Kinch accepted. Murray then sat there popping his knuckles, pondering on which story to give. The grey clouds, meanwhile, thinned a little, allowing a sliver of warm sunshine to hit Kinch's legs. He sighed inwardly at the minor comfort as Murray began.

"Alright, I'm ready. I might be a bit rusty but it'll do. It's a funny one all the nephews wanted to hear when they were wee ones.

"So one lovely day during harvest, Old Tom was walking about on his farm until he came across the hedge on one side. He heard a little clacking noise before him in the same hedge.

"Old Tom thought it strange to hear what seemed to be stonechatters so late in season, so he went up to his toes and tried to peer over to see what it was. The clacking stopped, and-"

"Wait," Kinch interrupted looking puzzled. "What's stonechatter?"

"A stonechatter is a bird. Now let me finish,"

"Sorry,"

"Anyway, he peered over the edge and spotted a tiny man, older than even himself, leaning over a gallon pitcher of liquor. He stood on a stool and wore a leather apron and a motty cocked hat on his tiny bald head. He dipped his wooden cup into the pitcher and was about to take a drink.

"Now Kinch, what Old Tom saw was a Leprechaun. When you spot a Leprechaun, you can't keep your eyes off of him for even a second, or else they vanish and escape. Old Tom knew this, so he leaned in closer with his eyes trained on the tiny man.

'Bless your work good sir,' he spoke. The Leprechaun looked over at him.

'Thank you,' was all he said.

'What keeps you working on such a fine holiday?" Old Tom asked.

'Can't you mind your own business?' the Leprechaun told him.

'May ye be civil enough to tell me what's in that pitcher of yours?' Old Tom asked.

'I will, and the pitcher is filled with good beer,'

'Beer! Where did you get good beer?'

Kinch chuckled a little too loud at that point, but Murray didn't seem to mind. The corporal was actually quite talented with storytelling, giving each character his own distinct voice. The Leprechaun sounded like a windy old geezer with a high pitched squeak, and Old Tom a gruff old man that reminded him of the storyteller.

Murray continued. "The Leprechaun straightened up a bit with pride, saying he had made it himself.

"'And what do you think I made it from?'

'The devil I would know, but of malt! What else?'

'No, but of heath,'

"Old Tom laughed." Murray said, suppressing his own chuckles.

'You think me a fool for falling for such a trick?'

'What I say is truth! Did you ever hear of the Danes?'

'And what of them?'

'Well, when they were here, they taught my family to brew beer from heath, and it's been our secret since,'

'Might I have a taste then?'

'It'd be best to mind your property then to bother me with your foolish questions. There are cows breaking your oats and are knocking the corn this way and that!'

"Instead, Old Tom made a grab for the Leprechaun, his eyes still on him. The sudden motion tipped over the pitcher of beer he wanted to taste. He swore loudly, and threatened to kill the Leprechaun if he did not show him where he kept his money. Old Tom looked so angry and bloodthirsty, so he agreed in order to keep his life.

"They passed many more hedges, and even crossed over ditches and bit of bog. Still, Old Tom kept his eyes on the Leprechaun. At last they came to a field of boliauns, and the Leprechaun pointed to one of the many large ones.

'Dig near that one, and you'll find a crock full of guineas!'

"Old Tom then cursed himself, for he did not think to bring a spade or shovel with him. He had to go home and fetch one, so he took off one of his red garters and tied it around the boliaun.

'Swear ye won't take the garter from this boliaun!' Old Tom made the Leprechaun promise. He then ran home, grabbed a spade, and returned to the same place. But lo and behold! Every boliaun in the field had a red garter fastened around it. Old Tom couldn't remember which the right one was, and digging up the whole field was nonsense. So he returned home, and from that day forward he gave a hearty curse to the Leprechaun that had so cleverly tricked him,"

That was all. Murray coughed a little while he laughed. His nose looked red and stuffy, as if the cold was finally getting to the hearty man.

"You know, lunch should be done in a while," Kinch brought up. Murray scoffed.

"And sit there with the grey scraps these Krauts call food? I'd rather starve. You think you'd get decent meals for the sake of human decency, but then they spit in yer face,"

"We don't have to go to the mess hall," Kinch quickly added, wanting to avoid another rant. "I hear Le Beau is making some hot soup. I can smell it now actually,"

Murray's large nostrils raised up, sniffing the winter air. "I don't smell anything,"

"You should come inside then, and get a closer look,"

He frowned in obvious dislike. "Well, if you say so. Better than the Kraut's food I suppose,"

Kinch grinned. He was finally getting him inside. The two walked in, the Gestapo guard standing post at the door. The duo sat at the table as they watched Le Beau stir a light vegetable soup at the stove top. It was in a bigger pot than he usually cooked with, enough to serve the whole barracks of hungry men. Little wafts of chicken broth, peas and carrots floated in the air. The steam and heat from the cooking soup and stove warmed up the room. It was still chilly, but it wasn't teeth clattering like it usually was.

"There's no meat in that soup," Murray blandly said, as if he was expecting something wrong with it in the first place. Le Beau didn't turn around, but Kinch could hear the frown in his tone.

"There's a few chucks in there, but not too much," he managed to strain out his mouth. Kinch looked warily at his friend, wondering if the good mood he set Murray in would dissipate and would find him outside again. This wouldn't the first spat, if it got to that point, but that wouldn't make it any less unpleasant. He hoped Le Beau would keep an even temper.

Murray looked ready to say something back, and as Kinch held his breath, Newkirk and Carter walked in, dusting off snow from their hands.

"Hey guys," Carter greeted. He took a seat next to Kinch while Newkirk stood by the bunk warming up his hands.

"Hey," Kinch replied. "You know, Murray here told me a funny story,"

"Oh?" Newkirk eyed the Irishman.

"Just a little tale for old time's sake," Murray explained, messing with his RAF cap. "Not anything worth mentioning,"

Kinch wouldn't let him stop talking. "I thought it was nice. Didn't it have a Leprechaun or something in it?"

"Aye," he answered, his eyes on his cap. His cheeks tinged of pink. Kinch wondered if it was possible for Murray to actually be bashful. He seemed so shameless in everything else he did.

"Leprechauns?" Carter spoke up with a huge grin. "I love those little green guys, and when they dance-"

"Lerprechauns are sneaky little hellions lad," Murray explained, "They'd sooner trick ya into selling your soul than to dance a jig or two. Perhaps you should hear the story I told to your friend Kinch here,"

Despite the rather snippy correction he was given, Carter looked eager to hear it. "I'd like that!"

So the corporal repeated his story. Kinch noticed that his voice acting wasn't as playful or convincing as before, but it was still rather fun to hear. Carter immersed himself in the tale, laughing in the right and wrong places and enjoying himself too much. Even Newkirk appeared to be listening, grinning at the silly parts of the story of Old Tom and the Leprechaun. Le Beau, for his part, did not show whether or not he was paying attention; more than likely he was focusing on the final stages of making the men's lunch.

During the part were Old Tom grabbed the Leprechaun in anger, Kinch suddenly excused himself and trotted outside. He had misplaced his lighter, a bright red one he was fond of. He had thought he left it in his usual pocket, but after he absentmindedly grabbed for it and it wasn't there, he remembered that he last used it outside. He had let Newkirk use it to light a cigarette, and it was possible that he dropped it when he thought he put it back into his pocket.

The glaring Gestapo guard was ignored as Kinch searched for his lighter. It shouldn't have been hard to find, with it being a solid color in white, pristine snow, but it wasn't anywhere to be seen. He checked the bench, then the barrels, and then the ground around it. He even went out a few yards to see if it was kicked away by unknowing passerby. Still, it was nowhere.

Kinch decided to head back in and ask Newkirk for help, but he saw a small glimmer of light from the corner of his eye. He turned to see a small glimmer again, only to have it stop as soon as it started. When nothing happened, he crept to where he saw it, turning to the side of the barracks. Then there was another glimmer, this time from the back of the building. Kinch walked to the back, and there was his cherry red lighter. It sat there as if someone laid it there for him in plain sight.

"There you are," Kinch muttered under his breath. He reached down and took the lighter, handling it carefully to rid it of the snow sticking to its sides. Once it was in his pants pocket, he heard movement behind him. He turned, facing the fence that barricaded the POWs from the woods. A light tree branch swayed, some of the icicles breaking and falling. There was a soft and cool breeze as it slowly stopped.

Kinch didn't know how his lighter got there, or how that branch moved while the others were still, but he didn't let it bother him. He was done with the creepy games he meddled with last week, and he had a job to do today.

Sergeant Kinchloe then walked to the front of Barracks 2 and went back inside, ready to do his job.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Big thanks to DragonRevolution for helping me structure the plot. I had one before, but I had trouble connecting events and reaching the climax and such. **

**Please review as always!**

The moment he returned to the barracks, Kinch told Hogan of his idea to search Klink's office for any files pertaining to Murray. The said man sat at the table with the others, a few new prisoners joining the crowd, as he told another tale.

This time there were no Leprechauns, or any sort of clever, mythical creature; this story was of two greedy men who tried many wicked deeds to snatch up the sliver of poor farmland that belonged to an old farmer, with nothing but a skinny cow to call a friend. Le Beau served some of the soup to whoever wanted it as Murray spoke. Again, his talent in storytelling was apparent, each character having his own distinct voice and tone. This time he was less shy and performed as eloquently as he had with Kinch. Even with his occasional cough or hacking, the story kept its audience. The only one missing was Carter, as he excused himself into Hogan's office to "fix the kettle to make more coffee".

As much as Kinch had somewhat enjoyed it, he had to talk to his leader.

"I know the Gestapo is tight on security, but this wouldn't be the first time we've done something like this," he explained in a hushed tone. "You could always visit our beloved Klink and get him talking, or even have one of us sneak in and find some papers. Hochstetter always leaves something for the kommadant in his safe to protect,"

Colonel Hogan nodded. He too spoke softly, as the two were standing close to the group.

"I haven't visited him in a while, now that you mentioned it. I still worry about the Gestapo though. I'm surprised they even give Murray this much freedom; I also can't get rid of the feeling they have something to do with this silence from the Underground,"

"I know what you mean colonel. I still can't get what Murray has anything to do with this. He acts like any other prisoner,"

Hogan cocked an eyebrow. "You mean you haven't got anything from him?"

"No sir," Kinch answered with a frown. "What you hear now is what I've got to give,"

They both looked over at the middle aged corporal. He was still performing for the others; some slurped down the last of their soup to pay full attention to Murray's tale.

"And poor old O'Neill came home that day with many a piece of gold, and all because he tricked the inn keeper into thinking that his cow hide could produce little coins! You'd think Hudden and Dudden hated the man then; they certainly despised him now! So, killing his cow didn't drive O'Neill from his land.

"But the mean spirited fellows decided to try the same trick the old man did. They killed the best of their herd of cows, tanned them, and then went on their way to sell the hide for their weight in gold at the local fair. Sadly for Hudden and Dudden, the people they tried to sell the hides to have heard of the false magical tanned hide from the inn keeper. Sure enough the two were beaten and dragged out of the fair…"

"I think Murray is hiding something," Colonel Hogan murmured to Kinch at that moment. His sergeant blinked in mild surprise.

"What makes you say that colonel?"

"Just think about it – He's a Gestapo prisoner, he doesn't talk to anyone, and now he's pushing away conversations in favor of telling children's tales," Hogan numbered out. He rubbed his chin in deep thought, looking at the Irishman. "It just doesn't make sense for him to not have anything of interest,"

"I can try harder to get him talking sir," Kinch offered. He already managed to get the man into the barracks for once, and he didn't even try in getting him to loosen up around the other prisoners. It might have taken a week to do so, but at least Kinch knew how to get him to get talking now.

"Maybe, but you've got a big wall to climb over with this man,"

"That's true,"

"Colonel! I fixed the kettle!"

Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Kinchloe turned, facing the smiling head of Carter sticking out of the office door. Le Beau and Newkirk quirked at the call, and immediately followed the rest into walking into Hogan's quarters. The door was shut quickly as Carter turned it on. Kinch knew he wasn't alone when he almost felt giddy about the now functioning radio tuning into the outside world.

That sense of giddy soon was replaced by intense concentration. Carter could not have picked a better time to fix it; Hochstetter's voice was heard mid-sentence on what could only be the Gestapo's business in Stalag 13, and to Murray's stay there.

"-is very intriguing work. High Command has been pleased by the results so far. We can't afford Murray seeing anyone out of this camp because of it,"

"Not to worry Major Hochstetter!" Klink's voice sounded off proudly. "Stalag 13 is the most efficient and well run camp in all of Germany!"

"May I remind you that this stalag is only a source of shelter for the prisoner? _My _prisoner?"

"Oh, of course Major, I was merely stating-"

"Yes, yes, I know colonel." Hochstetter interjected, sounding annoyed. "But remember what I have ordered you to do: _never_ let Coporal Murray out of Stalag 13. He's a carrier that can't afford to go just yet, and I don't care how efficient and well run this prisoner of war camp is if he should ever come out of our grasp, under your watch,"

"I understand Herr Major," Klink replied gravely.

"Good. After Murray's business is done, the High Command's favorite worker I told you of should come and pay your prisoners a visit,"

"Of course Herr Major. But when will that be exactly? I do like to keep on top of things-"

"That is not of your concern at the moment. Just keep Murray in the camp while my guards do their job,"

"Jawohl Major Hochstetter!"

"Auf Weidersehen,"

Colonel Hogan then shut off the kettle. Kinch didn't know what to think of the "High Command's favorite worker", or of "Murray's business". Was there a new, much more deadly spy at hand that could have something to do with the sudden radio silence? And how was Murray a part of it? Was he a spy as well?

It had been over a week since Kinch had remembered the two warnings, both in different tongues but with the same dreaded message: Beware the Child of Ireland. It resurfaced in his mind at the thought of Murray being a spy.

Could it be? In Kinch's experience in working with the Resistance, anything was possible. Friend could be foe and foe could be friend; Murray was no exception.

"Colonel, I think we should keep a closer eye on Murray. He might be working with the Gestapo,"

Newkirk gave a quizzical look. "And I thought you liked the old bloke,"

"Yeah, he isn't too bad," Carter added. "Well, aside from the coughing and all that,"

"You forgot his rude manners, his inconsiderate rudeness, his rude, disgusting spitting-!"

"And his rude language and his rude everything. I understand Le Beau," Hogan joked. The Frenchman gave a halfhearted grin.

"But Kinch is right. Murray may as well be the one Gestapo agent or spy messing with our communications. Just keep him under your watch as usual; we won't tell him anything about our operations,"

"Understood sir," Kinch replied. "But what about the Gestapo?"

"Yeah," Le Beau said, "What about them? They're still right at our tail, and you know how obsessed Hochstetter is in finding Papa Bear,"

"I think it's time for a plan then. Newkirk, I need you to go into Klink's office, and-"

"Colonel Hogan!"

The group groaned. Sergeant Schultz stumbled into his quarters as he rubbed his gloved hands together.

"Colonel Hogan, Colonel Klink wants you to report to his office," he breathed out as he caught his breath. He had ran from the kommandantur to Barracks 2.

"The nerve of some people!" Hogan started in a pretend aggrivation. "Doesn't Klink know I'm in the middle of a safety discussion?"

"Safety is important you know!" Carter chided. Schultz flustered a bit.

"But colonel, Kommadant Klink needs to see you now!"

"What for? What's more important than frostbite awareness?"

"It's about something about work detail, shoveling snow or something. But come quickly! You know how worked up the kommadant gets when we have visitors. He wants you to report to his office now!"

Schultz worried face was apparent now. It wasn't unusual to see the big man looking apprehensive about something or other (especially when Hogan or any of his men were around) but he looked more stressed than usual.

Still, Hogan rolled his eyes and buttoned up his coat. "Alright then, let's see what our dear old kommadant wants. We'll continue our discussion on frostbite when I return,"

They all exited his office and watched him leave into the bitter cold with Schultz. By then, Murray had long since finished his tale and his audience had left him alone at the table. The stove's last lick of warmth had also vanished; Le Beau no longer had anything to cook and the stove was exhausted to its last shred of wood. Nothing but a flicker and some hot ashes remained.

Kinch took a seat next to Murray. As usual he was completely unfazed by the cold while the sergeant struggled not to shiver out of control. He took out a pair of thread bare gloves and slipped them on as a futile attempt to keep his digits from falling off.

Murray didn't acknowledge his presence; he was staring off into nothing, that familiar glazed look on his face. He seldom did this, but every now and then he'd go into deep thought, he eyes looking indifferent to the real world while his body stood still. His breathing slowed as well.

Kinch thought about what he had accused him of being earlier: a traitor. Or was he? Perhaps he wasn't Irish at all and only a very good German actor. A very, very good actor.

_Wait, I'm only thinking this because of some voices I heard? _Kinch scoffed at himself. Never before had he taken them seriously, not since he first met Murray. Sure, he was somewhat shocked that the voice had somehow forewarned him of an Irishman he met, but after that? Kinch was a grown man and didn't think about it, even after that dream he had. Murray was a suspect because of his unknown relations with the Gestapo and his uncanny silence about it. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I haven't told that many tales in a long time," Murray spoke up out of nowhere. Kinch faced him.

"Is that so?"

"Aye. When the nephews were young, I'd tell them so many, yet they always asked for more. Even their friends came along to hear one or two. I can remember one, a shy little black boy-"

"I thought I was the first Negro you've seen," Kinch said. Murray chuckled.

"I said you were the first one I met, not seen. The boy was from some Negro family that lived a ways out, far enough away to not visit often. All that lad would do was sit in the corner of the room away from me and just look at me as I told stories. I think he was quiet around the other boys too. Don't blame him though, with his lame leg and the like,"

Kinch nodded as Murray went on another cough spasm. He wasn't sure if the man was telling the truth, but he could lead it to somewhere, right? He also knew he'd have to hurry, as he was expecting the order for work detail as soon as Hogan returned.

"I wonder what he'd think of your tales in the war," Kinch wondered aloud, steering the conversation to his will. "Maybe he'd be so interested in hearing what you did he'd come up to you and ask questions,"

Murray's mouth twitched noticeably. "He'd be a grown man now, and even grown men don't care for an old man's tale,"

"The Gestapo is hard on you then?"

"Don't talk about those bloody heathens in front of me,"

Eyes darted back to staring at nothing, but this time they were piercing into nothing with an intense anger. Kinch, taken back by the response, did not press further; he did not want to appear as if he was searching for anything more. Still, this did not stop Kinch from being wary around Murray, and no matter how much hate he would spew against his supposed enemy, he was still a suspect.

_Beware the Child of Ireland._

_That's enough from you,_ Kinch directed to no one in particular. He ignored the fact that the voice had returned it's warning out of nowhere, when he wasn't even thinking about it. With all of today's excitement, and with his mind testing his sanity again, Kinch excused himself from the table and decided to go outside.

He didn't know why he did. It wasn't snowing, though snow was still upon the ground, but the wind had suddenly picked up. Breezes were sharp and the air was cruel; winter had once again found something to torture the poor prisoners in the cold with. Kinch shook his head and embraced it a little. Anything that could clear his head was good enough, no matter the temperature.

It wasn't until a minute later, when Hogan returned from Klink's office, that Kinch was able to get the strangeness of the voices from out of his mind.

"Kinch, we're going to gather the rest of Barracks 2 and bundle up the best we can. We're shoveling out the road a few miles down,"

"I'm guessing Murray is staying behind?"

"Don't worry; the Gestapo should keep him company,"

"And our frostbite awareness?"

Hogan shook his head. "Later,"

So the two went back into the barracks and, with the rest of the men, put on any extra clothing or piece of uniform they had, not caring if anything happened to be mismatched or matted looking. Kinch himself took off his jacket, with some willpower in spite of the cold, in order to put on his three other shirts, and slipped on some extra pants and socks over the pairs he already had. Soon, he and everyone else looked as if they had gained a few pounds, and then gathered outside to huddle into the tented trucks.

Murray hadn't said a thing the entire time. Even as Kinch left Barracks 2, he was still staring off into space. He looked calmer than before, but Kinch wasn't so sure. He was worried he might have upset him, something that could ruin his further advances into Murray's hidden knowledge.

Kinch shook off the thought and walked to the back of the truck with his friends. Hogan was already inside when he and the others hopped in. Kinch took a seat next to the colonel with Carter at his left. Across from them sat Le Beau and Newkirk. Once the last man was on board, they were driven out of Stalag 13 and into the icy roads.

"Do you think it'll snow again tonight?" Carter asked.

"I hope not!" Le Beau replied.

"But it might, won't it?" Newkirk added. Some of the men grumbled about the upcoming freezing weather. Even Hogan looked uncomfortable at the idea of yet another snowstorm.

"If it does snow, then today's work will be a total waste. I wonder why Klink would make us do that," he thought out loud.

"Maybe he's showing off for the Gestapo," Kinch said. They all nodded, but soon slid in their sits in momentum as the truck slid to an icy stop. They all stood up as they heard Schultz's boots crunch on the snow and jogged to the end of the truck.

"Everybody out! Raus!"

"Raus raus!" Le Beau mimicked under his breath. "You'd think the snow would at least slow down the Krauts!"

When everyone was out, they were given shovels and ice picks while a few others were chosen to carry bulging packs of rock salt. Kinch wasn't sure if he was lucky or no better off with a shovel to move the thick snow than to be carrying the salt.

Regardless of the task, everyone moved out several yards to start digging and ice picking. Kinch had to get used to doing heavy work while wearing multiple layers of clothing, but he soon relished in the warmth the hard shoveling and thick clothes provided. He would be sweating like a pig later, no doubt.

About half an hour into the road work, he noticed Carter acting horrified. His face was bleached white and had walked shakily towards Kinch to pretend that he was helping him with his section of the road.

"Kinch, I, um, I lost something," he muttered un between heavy breaths.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I kinda sorta, you know, lost the map of the tunnels-"

"What?" Kinch asked in a strained tone, speaking low so the guards wouldn't hear him. Carter fervently worked harder, as if funneling all of his fears into shoveling.

"I had it with me in case Hogan wanted us to check on a tunnel, or do something with them, you know? I always have it on me whenever we have work detail, and I could have sworn it was in my breast pocket!"

"Well, what am I supposed to do? Shouldn't you have told Hogan?"

"I was hoping you'd find it. I already asked one of the guards if I could go back to the jeep but he won't let me. Besides, you're better at sneaking around! Sure, Newkirk is better than the both of us, but he and Le Beau would only get mad at me! That, and no one will miss you; no one ever does!"

"Gee, thanks,"

Carter looked at him desperately. "Please? Just go back there and see if it fell out. I swear I won't do it again!"

Kinch sighed as he stopped shoveling. He wiped tiny beads of sweat when he answered.

"Fine, but I'm only doing this because that map could cost us our operations, and Hogan doesn't need any more stress than he has already,"

Carter smiled, regardless of Kinch's annoyance. "Thanks so much buddy!"

He then got working on Kinch's spot of the road as he sneaked off, going past the guards and quietly stepping behind the backs of the Luftwaffe guards. They seemed more interested in their quiet chat and the work of the prisoners in front instead of the area behind them. Kinch took advantage of this and first searched the inside of the truck.

He found nothing but dirt and dust. He then checked around the vehicle, coming close to the woods at the edge of the road when he was at the front of it.

And then Kinch saw it. On a small boulder at the forest's edge, folded neatly and placed delicately upon the snow layering the rock, sat the map of the underground tunnels. He almost laughed at the sheer simplicity of it, only to realize it could not have simply been laid there. As the sergeant hesitantly reached out for it, it was picked up by a gust of wind and it flew into the woods.

"Dang it," he hissed under his breath. Kinch hopped over the boulder and into the thicket of trees to catch the prize. Every time he was millimeters away from grasping on to the map, it fluttered away quickly and flew out further. Kinch stumbled over a root or two trying to grab it again, his bulking clothing making the whole ordeal awkward. Finally the wind ceased and it floated gently in front of a snow covered bush, landing on the pristine whiteness beneath it.

"Finally," Kinch muttered to himself. Just as his fingers brushed against the yellowed paper, however, a tiny, pearly white claw of a hand snatched the map from its spot, and the thief jumped up from the bush and hung onto the tree like a small monkey.

"Child of the West, it is time to heed our warnings,"

Kinch couldn't reply, as he had forgotten how to speak.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the slow update. I would have finished this chapter sooner, but I was having trouble writing it, and I was busy with school as well. Hopefully it isn't so bad.**

**Also, don't be shy; I practically live on feedback, so please review!**

**Enjoy Chapter 5!**

Kinch forgot how to speak, but he didn't forget how to see.

The little thief, tiny like a child and whiter than the snow, swung lazily in front of the sergeant. It clung to the tree with its claw-like hand and bare feet as its pearly hand clutched the map of the underground tunnels.

If this was any other man, Kinch would have snatched back the map; perhaps get him into a good tussle if he happened to be a German guard.

But Kinch didn't think it was even _human_. Its skin reflected and glittered like fresh snow in the morning, its head, round and childish yet pointed, looking too big for its spindly neck to hold. The only thing covering its small, skinny body was a tunic of twisted, dry vines and dead leaves. The creature then leaned forward a little, its mouth curling into a thin and toothy smile; its pale blue eyes pierced into Kinch's brown ones as it spoke in its unearthly voice, a voice Kinch didn't want to think he had heard before.

"Child of the West, were you happening to be looking for something?"

"You – this – but –!" Kinch somehow babbled out, not sure what to say. He stepped backwards as if the further he went, the more the scenario would fade away. That failed horribly as he instead stumbled into a tree stump and fell onto his rear end, his legs dangled atop the stump. The thing laughed a biting chuckle, looking down on the man.

"Time is running out you silly Child! Follow me, lest you find trouble, yes?"

Kinch clamped his mouth shut, suddenly overcome by sheer frustration. His fumbling mind refused to believe that the voices were real back then when all this insanity started, and he certainly no longer trusted his eyes now. He took a deep breath to calm himself and shakily stood up in defiance. This was not real. He was a POW in the middle of the woods and he was merely having a hallucination. Right?

"You know what? I'm going crazy. The snow has been messing with my head," he stated, mostly to himself. Light snowflakes began to drift down lazily. A swirl of wind rushed them around the man and the creature. The clouds above blocked the sun and donned thick, grey coverage. The thick foliage of trees had already provided much shade before, and now it was certainly dark and dim. Somehow, the thing he was confronting continued to glimmer in its deathly pale skin. It laughed again.

"Child, I _am_ the snow. Every chilling breeze, every draft of snow, every dampened and cooled fire is of my doing," it spoke with a deceptively soothing tone. "I have been watching you, Child of the West, and you have certainly heard my call, haven't you?"

Kinch refused to reply. He had nothing to say to something that should be unreal. Instead he marched forward and reached for the map, only to have the creature hop away higher in the tree, further up into the branches.

"Ah ah! You have to follow me first! Trouble awaits you if you fail to catch me!"

And then the thing swung from one tree to the next with great speed, the map still in its hand. Kinch wasted no time in running after him; even low branches and thickets of dead bushes failed to slow him down. Real or not, it had the map, and Kinch wasn't going to let the paper get away from his reach. The growing numbness in his feet and the increasing drop in temperature did little to nothing to hinder him. Images of menacing looking trees, intruding bushes, and prickly thickets that dug into his speeding legs raced behind Kinch as he increased his pace. Soon the thing was just inches within reach.

Kinch, about to make a daring leap upwards to grab the little thief, tripped over something on the ground instead, sending him lunging forwards onto his chest. Luckily he managed to react quickly enough to cover his face with his arms, blocking bits of sharp rock and dead twigs from piercing his cheeks and eyes. As soon as he hit the ground, he jumped back up and twisted around on his spot, searching for the snow spirit that seemed to have vanished into thin air. He kept his eyes on the tops of the trees, searching the branches for a tiny white body with a yellowed strip of paper.

_It be wise to humbly cast your eyes to the ground, Child of the West._

Kinch almost refused, not thinking he should trust the same thing that had stolen the map and ran away with it moments earlier. But something about the coolness in its voice made him obey. Slowly, not noticing the sweat falling down his face, Kinch lowered his head and looked down at his feet. He saw nothing but his raggedy boots and the fresh dirt they had gathered from the chase. When he brought up his head again, he caught something from the corner of his eye.

He turned, looking down again, and saw what he had tripped over earlier. It was a petite figure, curled up in a fetal position and covered in a huge, dark olive colored trench coat. After taking a few steps towards it, Kinch noticed her – a woman looking around to be in her early thirties – breathing.

_Pick her up._

_That's enough from you,_ Kinch sternly snapped at the voice. As he was sitting up the woman, he noticed a neatly folded piece of yellowed paper, placed gently onto the ground next to her. Glancing around warily, Kinch swiped it up and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He then proceeded to wake up the woman.

"Hey, hey lady," he said, rousing the woman into consciousness. "You alright?"

After a few seconds of gentle shaking, heavily lidded eyes fluttered open. She looked around her new surroundings blankly before settling her attention onto the dark skinned man holding her up. Her eyes sunk into her head and her short brown hair looked matted and disheveled. Kinch almost missed the light sprinkling of freckles on her thin nose, as her face (and the rest of her attire, Kinch noted) was covered in a thin layer of dirt and grime.

"I heard it's… sunny in… Switzerland," she tiredly told him in between heavy intakes of breath, her German accent thick. Kinch immediately replied, recognizing the secret phrase from months earlier before the radio silence.

"I hope it's sunny when we visit there,"

The woman smiled meekly. "If only _Gott_ were to bless me like that,"

"C'mon, you need to get into some shelter," Kinch told her. "I know there's a tunnel entrance here somewhere; you can hide there until Papa Bear can speak with you,"

She nodded silently, allowing Kinch to help her to her feet and grabbing his shoulder for support. It took awhile, as the tunnel entrance was further out then he thought, he managed to find it before too much time was wasted. Thankfully, the guards had taken them to work on the stretch of road that they usually did, and the tunnel wasn't far from where he'd found her. As he was opening the door on the fake tree stump, the light flurries of snow had progressed into large flakes that hurtled to the already frozen forest floor. He hurriedly helped the woman onto the ladder.

"When you get down there, just sit tight. We'll get to you as soon as we can,"

Again she nodded. She looked even more worn out than before. Kinch made sure she had lowered herself down safely before shutting the entrance door and running back towards the work site.

Kinch knew he had been gone for too long; if he didn't back fast enough, it was possible they could have everyone back into the trucks and drive off back to the stalag, reporting Kinch's disappearance once they got there. Guards would be left behind as well to look for the "run away" prisoner.

He dug a hand into his pocket as he ran, subconsciously feeling for the paper that caused him all this trouble. It was there, crinkling under his touch and reassuring him it was all worth it. Kinch hoped he was right.

After a few minutes, he slowed to a jog and listened carefully for the bangs and clanks of shovels hitting ice, and any possible guards roaming through the trees. A sudden change in light caught Kinch's attention; the trees were coming further apart and the Sun once again broke through the clouds, though only by a little. They were still thick with warning of an upcoming snowstorm.

Snow. Kinch could never look at it the same way again, after meeting that thing. If it was real anyway. A part him, small and hesitant, suggested that it was. Didn't it snatch the map and talk to him, and later lead him to the woman? Perhaps it was a he, and perhaps he was the same entity he had heard before.

_Or I'm going crazy, _Kinch feebly told himself. Now he wasn't sure anymore.

Kinch then noticed the truck and road a few yards ahead of him. After checking from behind the bushes, he returned to the road, carefully walking behind the same guards from before and sneaking back to Carter, who was nearly done shoveling Kinch's spot. He picked up his abandoned shovel and began working again.

"What took you so long?" Carter whispered anxiously. He was quite sweaty now, though Kinch couldn't comment; he himself worked up his own sweat from running around in the woods. He shut out a certain moment from his mind as he replied, giving Carter the map.

"I looked all over the place, and I ended up finding it in the woods. The wind probably blew it there,"

"More like gales!" Carter added. A large gust of wind blew right into their faces, cooling their hot sweat and making Kinch think dreadfully of the creature in the woods.

That's when Kinch mentioned the agent to Carter.

"I also found something else in the woods. More like some_one _else,"

"Who?" Carter asked a tad too loud. Kinch hushed him and glanced around for an eavesdropping guard. When he didn't spot one, he continued.

"I'll tell everyone when we get back. She's in the tunnels,"

"She?"

"Dangit Carter, keep it down will ya? Just go get Colonel Hogan and tell him. I'll finish this spot for you,"

"Alright," he grumbled. He walked away and Kinch got to work breaking the ice under the snow. As he looked around, a majority of the snow had been shoveled away, with flurries of light snow coming down already. The rock salt had already been laid out, a single man dumping out and spreading the last of it. In a matter of time, Kinch knew that everything would be wrapped up and they would be shipped off back to Stalag 13.

With the work finished and an upcoming snow threatening to fall anyway, Kinch merely stood there, patting the remaining snow with the butt of the shovel.

At that moment, with nothing to occupy his mind, he wandered back to the meeting with that snow creature. If he was the snow as he claimed, then wouldn't he be watching him now? Maybe he was excited at the thought of another snowstorm.

Maybe he was planning a new way to disturb Kinch and his life. He thought he had lost it with the voices, but now _seeing_ things?

He remembered the first voice he heard, the German one that messed with the lights in the tunnels, and the footsteps that followed; then the next day when he heard the second one, the one belonging to the snow creature. Kinch then vaguely recounted the day he had lost his cherry colored lighter, finding it near the fence, and swore he remembered something move on the other side.

If none of these instances deemed strange, Kinch would have thought how the German voice was doing. He did give a similar warning as the snow creature after all, and he hadn't seen him since. Knowing his luck these days, Kinch guessed he would show up eventually. Another run in the woods might even speed things up!

Kinch snorted at his own sarcasm and patted the snow even harder. Damn the snow and all of its bizarre creatures and of all the voices involved. He didn't know who this "Child of Ireland" was, unless you considered Murray to be dangerous. Yet Kinch couldn't help but feel the Irish corporal was involved in more than he would admit. Besides, didn't Kinch himself tell Hogan of Murray's possible involvement as a double-agent?

Kinch stopped playing with the snow. He breathed in and out slowly, clearing his thoughts. He didn't like being unsure, confused; it was dangerous to be in the line of work he was in with such feelings invading his usually logical mind.

"Into the trucks!" Schutlz shouted out. "Gather the shovels and bags! Raus!"

Everyone filed up eagerly to get out of the cold. Kinch just wanted to get away from the trees that possibly existed as the snow creature's home. He found himself sitting next to Hogan again, though it was Le Beau on his other side now.

"Carter told me," the colonel whispered almost inaudibly to his sergeant. Kinch nodded curtly. All that had to be done now was get to that woman and find out what in the world happened to the Resistance and their Underground operations.

Possibly, they could also learn how Murray fit into all of this. It was no secret the Gestapo were involved – it was suspected from the very beginning – but Murray's place was still unknown.

Kinch rubbed his hands when he noticed the snow getting somewhat heavier from outside the truck. He didn't dread it as much as he thought he would; sitting with Murray outside had gotten him used to the biting chill that nipped at his fingers, nose, and feet. Even the others gradually grew used to the freezing air over the week. Still, Kinch liked being warm. He just wondered what kind of atrocity was being stewed up at the mess hall for dinner that coming evening. So long as it was hotter than room temperature (and that meant it not being chilled like the atmosphere) he deemed it fine to eat.

It was too bad that their stored food supply from the Underground was dwindling. Le Beau would not bring it up, but he dreaded the eventual depletion of ingredients; soon he and everyone else were to be stuck with stale sawdust bread and thin broth, maybe a tiny bit of unwanted sausage if they were lucky. The Frenchman spoke of such worries now, though he suppressed his spite the best he could.

Kinch didn't listen, not even when Newkirk apparently commented with something funny to lighten his little friend's mood. He was still working over the supernatural events he had ignored until now.

Both warned him of a Child of Ireland, and supposedly he or she was dangerous. One was merely the voice of a German, while the other was the voice and body of some nonhuman being that dwelled in snow. The latter stole a map and led him to the woman, a woman who could possibly give the group of men the information they need to find out what happened to their allies.

Now Kinch wondered if they would ever stop visiting him. He would dearly love to think he was a normal person again, no matter how helpful the voices had been.

"Wonder how Murray's holding up," Carter said after a while. The others grumbled.

"He's probably still sitting at the table in the Barracks," Kinch answered, wanting an excuse to stop thinking of something abnormal. "Either that or he's watching it snow outside,"

"You'd think he'd stay inside with that cough of his," Le Beau told the others.

"Maybe he has allergies," Carter added.

"Or he's just a sick old bugger who doesn't know what he's doing," Newkirk suggested under his breath. That resulted in another round of chuckles, though Hogan remained mostly quiet.

"Colonel, you think Murray will need company when we get back?" Kinch said. Hogan understood his suggestion of getting the corporal distracted, and nodded.

"Sure. Maybe he can tell us another tale before dinner," he answered with a grin. Carter agreed wholeheartedly.

"Maybe" Kinch muttered to himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear anything out of the magical world about the days of Old Ireland, when he was struggling to understand his crumbling concept of reality already. He wanted to hear something normal.

But Kinch could only sigh, because he was the only man in the whole of Stalag 13, perhaps in all of Germany, who Murray would talk to.

Oh well. For all he knew, Kinch was Murray's only friend. It wouldn't surprise him.

"Hey, do you guys hear that?" Carter spoke up. At first no one truly listened to him; it wasn't uncommon for the sergeant to draw unnecessary attention to himself. However, as the group got closer to Stalag 13, they heard a dulled yell, followed by another.

The back of the truck was now quiet, everyone straining to hear over the humming and clunking of the engine. Kinch leaned his head back onto the canvas-like canopy as they drove into the camp to get his ear closer to whatever was causing the racket outside. Soon the yells were more pronounced: a man was screaming and yelping, crying out words he couldn't make out. Other voices were raised and, as they got closer, Kinch could make out the words, most of them being German. When the truck finally stopped, Kinch's heart almost stopped. He now recognized the man that was yelping and screaming.

"Murray?" he guessed aloud. He looked over at Colonel Hogan, noticing he had gone stone-faced. A string of screeching curse words followed after Kinch's inquiry.

"Our very own," Hogan answered with a clenched jaw.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW **

**I apologize for my poorly translated German and the super long wait. I also took into consideration of how some folks were a bit confused by my supernatural characters. I was trying to make their roles more mysterious, but I decided to describe them a little more in this chapter for the sake of clarification. But no worries: I kept them mysterious enough to not spoil anything.**

**Enjoy Chapter 6!**

Kinch sat at the table in the barracks. Elbows rested on the table as his hands covered his face. He didn't bother to take off his extra layers of clothing once he got back inside, too angry and bothered to worry about such petty things.

He had a good amount of time on his hands, now that Murray was thrown into the cooler. When Kinch and the rest jumped out of the truck to see what was happening, all they saw was an angry Irishman being pried away from a medical officer and one of the Luftwaffe guards by his own Gestapo escort. Hogan immediately stormed off towards the kommandantur to see Klink; Kinch could only stay behind and watch the man that had just barely begun to open up to the others be dragged away. A whole week of sitting with him and dealing with his ticks, and all it gave was isolation in the cooler.

Hogan was still with their kommadant, most likely trying to persuade him to get Murray out of the cooler. Kinch didn't doubt his colonel's skill, but he was wary all the same: the corporal was practically thrashing around and attacking other German military personnel. Not even Colonel Klink could be convinced to let him out of the cooler; at least, not any time soon. Once Kinch thought about it, he was worried that Major Hochstetter would never have that man out of the sight of a Gestapo guard again. It would be 24/7 surveillance in and out of doors with no privacy or chances to get crucial information.

The sounds of Newkirk and Carter slapping down cards vaguely made it to Kinch's attention. He was too deep in thought, and the contradictions of his sweaty, warm clothing and the crisp, cold air made his mind foggy. Then there was the memories of that creature in the woods, and of their conversation, and of the woman he was allegedly lead to.

Le Beau was down in the tunnels now, tending to the woman's health and finding out her identity. Kinch would have gone down himself, but now more than ever he feared the underground. If what he saw in the woods was true (and the sergeant was finding it harder and harder to deny it), then what about the other voice he heard down there? Was it real too, perhaps a ghost? A poltergeist? An elf? Some other ridiculous imaginary creature? Recollections of the disembodied call sent shivers down Kinch's spine. He dearly hoped it didn't exist as well.

"You look balmy mate," Newkirk said, his eyes still on his draw. Kinch raised his head. Both of his friends were concentrated on their game; it wasn't surprising, since they had little to do but much to worry about. A little distraction helped them.

Maybe that's what Kinch needed: a distraction. He stood and went to his bunk, peeling off the upper layers of his dirty uniform and putting them in his laundry bag; he then tied it up and threw it over his shoulder. Once that was done he made his way to the door leading outside. Before the man even opened the door, he felt the tell tale signs of another impending snowstorm. The drafts had grown since the POWs left the road work sight, along with the size of the snowflakes. What was once powdery dust were now thick blotches of snow slamming in through the small cracks and crevices of the barracks' entrance. Kinch made sure to open and close the door quickly.

It was stupid to try and do washing now. As soon as his fingers would touch the water, they were sure to turn blue and fall off. Kinch didn't care though. He was tired, dirty, and disturbed; nothing else could bother him even further.

He found the wash bin stashed away behind the barracks with a small but growing layer of snow on it. The laundry bag was thrown down as Kinch set it up and fetched the pail to fill it with water. There was no soap to clean the clothing with.

Just when he stood up and faced the way to the water pump, Kinch felt that something was off. The snow, having been pouring down seconds earlier, was now a lazy drift again. The camp became eerily quiet and calm. No boots were heard crunching on the fresh snow, no heavy winds were blowing icily against the shack-like buildings. In fact, the air was unnaturally still, crisp and cool as well.

Kinch remembered his encounter with the German voice from the tunnels, that very long week ago. The atmosphere was the exact same as it was at that moment.

"_Das__Kind von__Irland__gekommen ist._"

The pail dropped with a heavy thud that reverberated throughout the silent atmosphere. It was that voice, the one Kinch didn't want to ever hear again, whether it was real or imaginary. For a moment in minor shock, Kinch focused on controlling his fumbling mind and didn't catch the German that was spoken.

"W-what?" he dared to whisper.

"_Das__Kind von__Irland__gekommen ist!_"

This time it was loud, and anxious. And right behind Kinch. He turned haphazardly in the snowy ground, nearly slipping, and came face to face with the thing that had called out to him.

As Kinch half-mindedly translated what the voice said, he saw it; or rather, him, if he could technically be identified as that. He was German, as the American had suspected, but he didn't look fully human, or even alive. Unlike the solid and energetic thing Kinch had met in the forest, the German in front of him looked ragged and literally dead tired. His dark eyes sunk in too deep into his skull, the dark ring around it emphasized by his equally dark uniform. Kinch noted that the style of the uniform was old. The helmet covering the tattered head was also of older styling.

"The Child of Ireland, I get it," Kinch whispered low, comprehending what he was told. The apparition stepped closer, and Kinch dared not move.

"_Ja!_ Here, is here!" he affirmed clumsily in English.

"The Child of Ireland? Here?" Kinch repeated dumbly. He watched the German nod and step even closer. They were only a couple feet apart. From their confined distance, Kinch could now see how pale and dead the ghost was; he looked as fragile as the calm, winter scenery around them.

"Stop Child of Ireland! Child ist leave now!"

"Leaving, where?" Kinch said, now speaking a little louder despite his numb shock.

"Kinch! Hey Kinch! You there?"

It was Carter. Jolted from his conversation, he noticed that whoever and whatever it was had disappeared. The falling snow, on its part, returned again, and the winds were even harsher now. In the distance, he barely saw and heard a medical truck hurriedly exit the camp. As Kinch quickly snatched up his laundry bag, Carter found him and tugged at his arm.

"There's another storm coming!" the younger sergeant yelled over the winds. Kinch moved forward with him.

"It's already here!" Kinch told him. Without any further comments, the two made it to the slightly less cold indoors that was their barracks. He pushed his laundry back in its place, and noticed everyone surrounding the puny stove. Knowing that the fire would be even smaller because of the lack of wood, he didn't bother trying to get a lick of the warmth from the inner grouping. Instead he walked over to Colonel Hogan; he had just returned from the kommandantur. He didn't appear to have been successful with Klink, and it certainly showed: his face looked stern, and deep in thought, pacing the front of his office door. Kinch gave him a nod, Hogan returning one stiffly.

"How long will Murray have to stay in there?" Kinch asked. He already knew there was no hope of getting him out anytime soon.

"Until the end of the war, the way Klink was raving on about it. I don't think the Gestapo is any more lenient on him either. Two Gestapo guards at his cell door and no visitors allowed. Anyone attempting to do so will be shot on the spot."

Kinch didn't say anything. Remembering the warnings today from both the ghost and the snow creature, he was sure everyone would be safe. If he was truly the Child of Ireland they were warning him about, then even though he was present, he was under strict supervision. Perhaps that was what the ghost man meant when he said the Child of Ireland was leaving; he was away from the rest. Perhaps he would even be transferred to another camp. The only thing that confused him was how he could still be dangerous, and why Kinch should stop Murray from leaving.

"And Kinch, I need you to go down into the tunnels. Le Beau is still with the woman you found, and she needs to pass on information for you to keep until we can make contact again,"

Surprisingly, the sergeant wasn't as worried about the tunnels as before. Perhaps he was going insane, but he was reluctantly accepting what he saw and heard as true. He already faced the voices he had heard, and they were somewhat helpful; troublesome, but helpful nonetheless.

"What about roll call?" Kinch asked, noting the storm getting even worse.

"I think Klink can trust us for one night." Hogan told him. "But do it before lights out; we can't risk getting the Krauts anymore upset than they already are,"

"I'm on it colonel," Kinch said, moving to the bunk and climbing down into the tunnels. Just as he remembered, the underground chambers were bitterly cold and the air frozen still. Even the lights appeared to be stuck in the frosty rooms, their glow pale and dull. Kinch refused to fear it any longer. Now was not the time for being scared like a teary child.

When Kinch found Le Beau with the woman, the room felt a few degrees warmer. She sat up with a blanket wrapped around her, and her eyes were drooping with exhaustion.

"Kinchloe, this is Bretta. She was one of the underground agents before they were undertaken,"

"What? How?" Kinch demanded, shocked at the knowledge. The woman spoke this time, firm but quiet.

"A double agent. Most of us either disappeared or are held prisoner by the Gestapo,"

"How did you avoid getting caught?" Kinch asked.

"I didn't."

"What do you mean? What's going on?"

Bretta's mouth thinned. She wasn't answering, and Kinch noticed the flicker of fear that passed through her green eyes.

"Don't you know any more than what you've said?" Kinch pressed. Bretta was still quiet, and Le beau just shook his head.

"Whatever they're doing to them, it's scared her quiet. She wouldn't talk to me about it."

"If it's that terrifying, you need to tell me now. The other agents and the underground are at stake." Kinch said even more firmly. The brunette clutched tighter to her blanket and took in a shivering breath.

"I want to. I want to so much." Bretta whispered. "But…I can't…"

"I need to know, Bretta." Kinch said, his tone unwavering and demanding information. Le Beau frowned a little. This information was important, but even he wouldn't push this already broken woman. Kinch, he noticed, had been acting differently since this whole thing started.

"_Mon ami_, let her rest. She just escaped from where ever she was held at. Her mind is still frayed." The Frenchman told Kinch. The sergeant took a breath, realizing what he was doing. It was true, what Le Beau said, but this mission was urgent, and everything was at stake. Kinch found it nearly impossible to ignore the warnings from his unearthly encounters and he couldn't bring himself to let anyone prevent him from doing what he could to heed to those warnings.

"Le Beau, has she eaten anything?"

"No."

"Then find whatever you can. She has to eat"

Le Beau gave him a curious look before doing so, wondering what kind of scraps he could find for her. Once they were alone, Kinch faced Bretta.

"I need you to talk." He said, somewhat more gently than before. She looked away, focusing on the hem of her blanket.

"I…I can't. It's hard."

"Lives depend on it."

Now she turned fully away from Kinch. "I know."

"Then tell me." He said, putting a hand on Bretta's shoulder. She drew a deep breath. Then she exhaled. Her mouth opened and made a small noise before snapping it shut again. Burying her head in her arms, she shook her head.

"I can't! Every time I do, I just-it's too-the needle! Mein Gott, the needle!"

Kinch didn't move as she jerked in fear, turning back around quickly to face him again. Her eyes were glossy and were threatening to pour tears.

"The one who has us…I know the location." Bretta finally broke down, tears streaming across her pale cheeks.

"What is it?" Kinch asked hurriedly, taking out his notebook and pencil. Although she cried, her voice was just as quiet and cold as before. When he finished, he handed her a hanky. Bretta brushed off her tears, and the only evidence of her tears left behind was the thin, red rings around her eyes.

"_Bitte_." She said. "I'm sorry for not saying. It's just…"

"Don't worry. We have a location now." Kinch assured, though he knew Hogan would demand more on their enemy. Bretta would have to hurry and spill it before people had to start shaking her. Because of her state though, Kinch doubted that would help; it might even make her mental stability worsen.

Le Beau then returned with a plate of stale bread and a chunk of cold but strong cheese. She ate without complaint.

"Thank you Le Beau."

"Just eat madame; you looked starved."

Bretta gave a cold chuckle. Both Kinch and Le Beau stayed with her as she ate, making sure she would be fine down in the tunnels before they would have to climb back up for lights out. Le Beau, despite the stress of previous events, managed to be sweet to the woman, and even made a few flirty comments her way. She would only give him a small grin in return, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Kinch mainly kept quiet. While Le Beau used his charms to try to make her feel more comfortable, Kinch studied her reactions and expressions to read her. Although she would smile and even give her own few words into the one-sided conversation, he could practically sense that she was not saying something. It had to be something crucial, and it wasn't just more information on the captors of the Resistance.

"I miss my father, actually." Bretta said after being asked if she worried over her mother. Kinch smiled, realizing Le Beau was indirectly making her open up.

"How so? Doesn't he live with your mother?"

"Oh no, he died long ago when I was young. He caught a horrible flu when visiting his cousins. He died there right in his home country and was buried there."

"Doesn't every German?" Le Beau asked.

"Oh, he wasn't German; he grew up in some Irish county. I can't remember which one."

Kinch froze in surprise. Le Beau continued to talk to her and ask her about her family there while Kinch stood up and walked back towards the tunnel entrance.

"I think it's time to go." He said curtly. The French corporal raised an eyebrow.

"We still have fifteen minutes."

"I need to talk to Hogan."

Before Le Beau could say anything else, Kinch was out of that particular room and was soon at his old, dust-covered radio. He gave it a mere glance before climbing up the ladder.

Colonel Hogan was still near his office door, though now he was only leaning on it instead of pacing.

"Colonel, I have the address of where the others are held prisoner." Kinch told him quietly, handing him the paper. He took it and stashed it in his pocket.

"I'll look at this tomorrow morning, first thing after roll call. If we have one. I want you and the others to meet me up either way to form a plan of action."

"Understood, sir." Kinch said. He then pushed past the crowd around the pitiful stove and flung himself onto his top bunk. While waiting for lights out, Bretta filled his thoughts.

She was the Child of Ireland. That would explain why it didn't make much sense for Murray to be the one. She arrived, and would be leaving, just as the apparition from earlier warned him. Perhaps the location she gave him was just a set up by the Gestapo, and the men would find her there with them, laughing as they were overrun and shot. Tomorrow morning, Kinch planned to tell Hogan not to trust her.

But would the officer listen? Kinch knew that the others were beginning to be wary of his strange actions as of late. Not surprising, as he was seeing and hearing supernatural…things, and acting as if they were real. He was even taking their advice and help on this so-called "Child of Ireland". That, and the others would want real reasons and facts, not some crazy man's talk.

Kinch knew he couldn't ignore the otherworldly warnings now, or else he'd go insane trying to forget what he saw. Soon the lights were out, with all the shivering POWs in their beds struggling to seek warmth. As the cold penetrated his thin blanket and the snow beat against the even thinner windows, Kinch fell into an uneasy sleep.

From the outside, Kinch's snow friend swayed in the branches, delighted in such a snowy storm; it was his element after all. A bit less wet than it would be in his homeland, but it was great snow all the same. The German soul standing underneath him looked shaken and stressed.

"Not listen to mein warning!" he moaned. He rubbed his face in despair. "Must hurry!"

"Oh hush, you silly mortal; this one will save your grandson, don't you worry. The Child of the West listens to us now. It is only a matter of time before he snatches the Child of Ireland." He explained in an unusually cheery tone.

The human spirit fell silent, hoping his companion was right.

"Let's enjoy this frozen night, shall we? Only back home have I seen better snow!"

And so the creature guided his friend into the forest again, the ghost never taking his eyes off of the barracks where his hope lay in fitful slumber. He knew how harsh his own people had become, and knew what was happening at the very moment to his grandson that had once been cursed upon him by the Child of Ireland.

The barracks were out of sight, and both the entities had entered into their own world, waiting for the Child of the West to make his move.


End file.
